Feeling of the Wind

The sound of the shovel digs deep into the sod, striking heavily down within to get the rich top soil. The hole was getting deeper and wider, growing slowly like a rage within someone. Funny, these analogies seem to make me dig with a certain vigor . A roar rears its noise over the meadow as I dig the wind howls its chorus as the shovel cuts through the dirt with grinding noise. Finally the hole had made it to a desirable size. The wind was raging, its volume was nearly deafening as it ran past me and left a wave of dread like a heavy weight on my shoulder as I lifted the large body bag over my head and tossed it in the hole that lay approximately six feet below the surface. As the bag hit the bottom of the hole it opened slightly and the sound of laughter, crying, screaming, and gagging. In small text right where the head is in the body bag lettering appears> In big black lettering it says memories. Now to fill back in the hole with the first shovel full of dirt I notice the wind has completely died. It Appears that the feeling of dread was replaced by a feeling of peace at least for now.